


watch me as i glide

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:19:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au where zayn and louis broke up, louis is coping and harry likes beautiful things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	watch me as i glide

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was slightly based on the tags on [this](http://certainfates.tumblr.com/post/57717294204/sunsets-wyn-evans) post but I wouldn't read them if I were you because spoilers. Also, I doubt I made them justice, but I had this stuck in my throat and I had to let it out. It's unbeta'd, every single mistake is my own. 
> 
> Alana, love, thank you for being the sweetest, cutest, most adorable creature in the world. This fic is for you <3
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer: I know nothing, I own nothing.**

The noise of the rain hitting the windows is what wakes Louis up.

He’s not used to it. It never fucking rains in California and, if it does, it’s never before midday. Rain wouldn’t be the right word to define what’s going on outside anyways. The proper word would actually be storm, what with the way the wind is blowing loudly, shaking the windowsill of his shitty apartment. But then again, all that sound could be resultant from the massive hangover Louis is nursing. It’s Wednesday morning, but that didn’t stop him from uncorking a bottle of wine or two.

Louis groans, reaching for the phone resting on his bedside table. It’s six am, he went to bed at two. There are no texts or calls, no one bothering to ask if he’s okay, checking to see if he’s not drinking himself to sleep. It’s been a month, though, and he recalls himself telling Liam, Niall, Stan, Lottie and his mum, a couple of days ago, that he’s perfectly fine before plastering a fake smile on his face. They believed him, hadn’t found a reason not to, especially considering he had started trying to get his life back to normal.

Zayn wouldn’t have believed him, he knows. Zayn never did.

Thinking about _him_ so early in the morning is both easier and harder at the same time. Easier because it automatically comes to his mind, just by taking a glimpse of the other side of the bed, all the mornings Louis had woken up before Zayn – pretty much every single one of them besides birthdays and anniversaries – and he had just sat there, admiring the way Zayn’s face was free from his scowl whenever he was asleep, the lines of his face soft and relaxed. Louis never learned how to cook, but his coffee has always been fairly good, so he would go to the kitchen and fill two mugs of steaming coffee. He would walk back to their bedroom to Zayn stirring awake, thanking him with a blinding smile when Louis passed him his favourite mug.

“You’re my favourite,” Zayn would say, pulling Louis down for a sweet, longing kiss.

“You’re such a sap, Malik,” Louis would shrug out of Zayn’s arms, pressing his face against his shoulder to hide the smile forming on the corners of his mouth.

Zayn would laugh, all wide and beautiful, so _so_ beautiful, and Louis would wonder why he spent so long pretending that his feelings for the boy were simply platonic.

It’s harder now because those memories come with the realisation that the other side of the bed is cold, Zayn’s smell long washed out of the sheets. They come with the burning ache he’s felt ever since Zayn walked out of the door after an entire hour explaining why he thought they shouldn’t be together anymore and how he still loved Louis, he would always love Louis, but that they would be better off as best friends. An entire hour in which Louis did nothing but stare, lacking the strength of complaining, of telling Zayn how wrong he was because they were pretty fucking awesome together, as a couple, how he wouldn’t know what he was supposed to do without Zayn there to guide him and support him all the time.

He just sat there as the boy he’d been in love with since he was sixteen told him he would find someone better fit for him eventually and left.

They told him he could get over it after a while, that life was more than teenager love and that he would end up healing the minute he realised there was no other option. That cure method itself is rash enough, Louis thinks. It’s like breaking to your lungs that they will have to cope without air because it’s no longer compatible to the type of life you want to lead, or telling your heart it will have to find a replacement for blood because it can no longer run through the veins.

 _Maybe they were right_ , Louis ponders whenever he notices his hands no longer shake whenever they are kept occupied with something. _Maybe I can get over it,_ he tells himself when everything that once belonged to Zayn is not filling the walls and when the shelves are free from holding Zayn’s books. _Maybe I am stronger than I think,_ that’s whenever he manages to get out of bed in the morning without needing at least an hour to drown himself in the waves of sadness that he can’t stop from crashing down on him.

Without Zayn’s books though, the shelves look empty. They look as empty as Louis’ heart feels and he tries not to dwell on that, but it’s hard when he finds Zayn’s Star Wars’ mug resting in the back of the cabinet or when he can’t help but staring at all their pictures together that he didn’t manage to bring himself to take down from Facebook the minute they broke up.

The shit about life is that no one ever prepares you for heartbreak. Sure, you can read about it, talk to other people about it, but it’s never as real as when it happens to you and by that time that it does, you have no other option but to take it and take it and have people expecting you to get over it eventually.

Louis doesn’t think he will ever _get over_ it, not really.

He still gets out of bed because those thoughts are not even the worst he’s had in the past weeks. They are bearable, even if the ache inside his heart is not, and he knows he could at least pretend he’s not letting his mum and his friends down by taking a shower, forcing down some food and going to work. Louis does all that without actually wanting to, sets himself into an automatic mode where the stuff he’s supposed to do are being done without any thought being put to it.

Louis’ coping, or at least that’s what he’s forcing himself to believe. He’s trying, even if he ends up slipping every other night and drinking enough alcohol to pull him into a dreamless sleep.

It’s best that it’s Summer, Louis knows that for sure. Had it been any other time of the year, he would have to explain to his students why he couldn’t find a single urge to talk much less to teach, and that would have been even worse than explaining to his mum why he doesn’t want her to come stay with him for a couple of days. Although it was tempting to have someone with him, if only to keep his thoughts away from the darkness he could feel creeping, Louis wasn’t going to drag someone down with him, much less his mother. She had a life, she had four other children to take care of and her pathetic twenty-three years old son was definitely not worth of her time.

His walk to the bathroom is even different than it was before, slower. He has no objective, not a good enough reason to hurry with anything, especially being six am of a fucking Wednesday. No compromises, no classes, no one to impress. To anyone, that would have been paradise, but to Louis it was only a statement of his solitude, something he had tried to avoid for a long time, something he’s now stuck in.

The reflection in the mirror is unknown to him – there’s three weeks worth of stubble screaming to be shaved but Louis’ too lazy to actually do it. It’s not that he looks bad – not because of the beard anyways – he looks different. He wouldn’t recognise himself if he saw him walking down the street and that’s concerning because Louis has always know who he was, has always been so sure of every aspect of his life from what are his expectations to the way he’s supposed to look. Suddenly, he doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

(It’s easy to say that Zayn’s fucked him up pretty badly.)

His apartment is still too small – there are exactly fifteen steps from the bathroom to the kitchen and seven from the kitchen to the front door -, but Louis reckons any other place would be too prejudicial for him considering the situation. That’s why he barely ever leaves it lately, only when it’s an emergency like there’s no more milk or cereal. When he opens the fridge, it’s with frustration that he realises he lacks the first one.

“Fuck,” he mutters, opening the cabinet only to find that there’s no more cereal either. How come he didn’t notice that earlier? “Shit.”

He puts some clothes on and opens the door only to be greeted by a rain that is not as strong as it was minutes before but it’s freezing enough to compensate for the lack of strength. Sighing, Louis locks the door behind him without bothering to get an umbrella. The store is literally one block down from his apartment and the sweatshirt he’s currently in will be enough to lessen the damage.

It doesn’t stop him from being soaked when he finally arrives at the store, though, and he almost cries on relief when he feels the warm breath that slips from the open door. He holds it open as an old lady goes out, being thanked by a smile that is just as warm as the inside of the store.

The rows and rows of products are familiar for him – living in the same place for two years, everything surrounding it became just as much of a home as the apartment itself. Zayn used to do the groceries though, but Louis has always known that going out to buy food was an excuse to buy more packs of cigarettes. It’s okay, he never judged Zayn by it. If anything, he was glad at least one of them was actually bothering to go out and get them food.

Even though the whole point of going out to buy food, Louis gives up on the pretence and goes straight to the drinks section, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a six pack while he’s at it. He’s not even picky about his beer anymore, even though with his salary he can definitely afford to buy any of them – except for the European ones, that shit is too expensive even for a doctor, he reckons. Instead, he reaches for the first one and tries not to compare himself to Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 500 days of summer, because the situation is not the same. He didn’t know Zayn for a few months, he knew him for almost a decade and it wasn’t an infatuation, it was real love. At least for him.

When he gets home, he doesn’t even bother pouring the cereal. Whiskey is more tempting.

-

A call from his mum wakes him up on Thursday morning.

“Hello?” he answers sleepily, not bothering to keep his eyes open.

“Louis, darling, did I wake you up?” she sounds concerned, but that’s nothing new.

“Erm, kinda?” Louis deeply hopes his voice doesn’t show how tired he actually feels even after sleeping for twelve hours, “I should be up now, anyways, so it’s no problem.”

“Oh, okay, good,” he braces himself for the questions that are going to come regardless of how much he’s told her there’s no need for her to worry so much, “how’re things? Have you gone out lately? Have you called any of your friends? Liam told me you haven’t spoken to him in a few days, he’s extremely worried about you.”

Louis runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the urge of sighing, “I’m okay, mum, just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“I know it’s bad, honey,” he slips one eye open upon hearing no sound of rain to find the sun creeping through the curtains, “you know what I’ve been through and how much I loved your dad before he left, but we move on, ok? We find other things in life, better things. You have to give it time but you can’t keep dwelling on your misery just because you don’t see life getting better.”

The thing is; Louis has heard all that. From his mother, from his father, from the therapist, from Liam. He knows that people move on after they finish a relationship, be that a two months one or a seven years one. He knows there’s a chance for him to find someone else, someone who’s actually going to stay and not leave him heartbroken, but what everybody seems to forget is that he once thought that Zayn would be that person. The person that would never hurt him and never break him, the one that would stay with him through all cost, through every storm and never falter. He believed in that for so long, let Zayn make a house for himself inside Louis’ bones, and now he’s left with a shell of what he was.

“How’s Dan and the girls?” he asks instead of giving his mother an answer and his heart doesn’t hurt so much when he hears her sighing.

“They are good, they are all good. They miss you. The twins were asking when you were going to visit us again,” Louis knows the twins are not the only ones asking.

“Soon, okay, mum?” he mutters, keeping his voice down as if to make it a promise not only to his mother but to himself. He needs his sisters and they need him – he can’t disappoint them as well, “look, summer ends in three weeks and I haven’t even started planning my classes so I’m gonna go do that now, ok? I love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” Louis hangs up before she can say anything else and the weight on his shoulders grow heavier.

It’s easy to say it’s not in his agenda to start planning his classes until, at the very least, one day before they start. It’s Drama, after all. Even Louis is able to admit that there’s not much of planning behind that subject. He needs to _do_ something, though, before he loses his mind whilst sitting down on the sofa watching the same shows over and over again – there’s a specific amount of The O.C. someone can watch in a small period of time without going nuts.

Going out seems like the only viable option.

-

He digs his toes into the sand, trying to block out the talking of people all around him.

Although he’s lived in San Francisco his entire life, the city never ceases to amuse him. Be that back when he used to go out with friends, hitting night clubs and bars and meeting the most eccentric people, or whenever he decided to take a bus and sit next to the world’s most famous bridge, Louis always found himself mesmerized by the wonders of the city. Sure there is a lot more to it than landmarks, but now as he tries to fix himself by reaching for the parts that had been left unmarred by his heartbreak, it’s good to just sit down and enjoy the small waves and the crowds of tourists all around him, fighting for the best spot for a photograph.

Zayn never came here with him – he’s probably been there, living in San Francisco for as long as Louis’ has, but they’ve never been to the bridge together. It was a deal they had; they would keep one place in the city as sacred place and would most definitely not share it with each other. They were aware that they need some time for themselves every once in a while and for that Louis was grateful. He wouldn’t bear coming down here if the place was marked with memories as pretty much every single corner of the city was.

Without those memories, Louis is allowed to pretend that the sand is his and the beach is his and everything around it belongs to him. He can pretend he’s actually alone and that there’s no sadness pulling strings in his heart, can forget that the house will be empty when he comes back as it will remain empty on the next day and all the days to follow. He can pretend that conversation never happened and that he didn’t walk away on him. Act as if the feeling of abandonment is reminiscing from when his dad decided that he would be better off without his family.

Louis’ had enough time to accept what had happened and not to let it affect his life too much. Most of the time he’s in the mood to ignore his father’s existence, even if he’s always sending gifts and letters on birthdays and Christmas – which for Louis meant pretty much the same -, but when he can’t bring himself to do it, it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. If anything, he grows from it, every time. He learns what he’s supposed to do and what he’s not in case he ever becomes a father.

He knows he would be a better father than his dad has ever been and that sort of calms him down a little bit, knowing that he can learn from other people’s mistakes as well as his own.

“Excuse me?” A low voice interrupts Louis’ thoughts and he fights against the side of him that’s pretty much keen to ignore whoever is disturbing Louis’ alone time.

Sighing, Louis’ looks up to find a curly haired kid smiling down at him.

“Yes?” he asks, squinting so he can see the stranger ever with the sun on his face.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” and wow, he’s a slow speaker, Louis notices. It should be annoying but it’s quite endearing with the way the kid won’t stop fucking smiling, “but would you mind if I took a picture of you? I know it can’t be quite... erm... creepy to have someone ask you that but I was sitting there and I noticed how you look when the sun shines on your face and I couldn’t help it.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” Louis questions.

The kid blushes and bites his lower lip, “Look, I’m not doing this with bad intentions, okay? I’m a photography student and I just want a picture.”

“Of me?” Louis is thankful when he sits down next to him, because now he can see his face and there’s nothing childish about it. On the contrary, the boy can’t be more than two years younger than him. And he’s way bigger, his hands twice the size of Louis’ ones, he notices when he starts fiddling with the camera strap on his slap, “why?”

“I told you so, you look really nice,” Louis raises an eyebrow, “I-in a very a-artistic way,” he adds, his cheeks turning an even darker shade of red, “c-can I? I promise no one’s going to see it besides my teacher and no one will even know it’s you because it’s a profile shot.”

There are numerous reasons as to why Louis should say no starting with the boy being a fucking stranger, but if the way he seemed to shrink under Louis’ gaze was anything to go by, he was definitely harmless. Besides, what is a picture taken by some cute stranger in the bigger picture? If anything, Louis will have a story to tell his friends.

“Sure, go ahead,” the boy grins, picking up his camera, “but just one picture.”

Louis’ never seen anyone take so long to take just one picture, but Curly seems to never be satisfied with the position. He inclines the camera in at least twenty different angles, standing up and circling Louis until he finally finds a spot he seems satisfied with and presses the shutter. He beams as he checks the picture and Louis stands up to see it, but the boy is faster and presses the camera against his chest.

“I want to see it,” Louis says and Curly shakes his head, “why not?”

“It’s not edited, I don’t like showing my pictures before I edit them,” he fights against the urge of rolling his eyes as the boy simply covers the lens and leaves the camera hanging by the strap around his neck, “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Louis,” he replies, feeling awkward out of sudden.

Harry coughs, flipping his hair to the side before ruffling it with both hands in a gesture that is both too big and comfortable enough to be a habit, “Well, thank you for this.”

Louis nods, watching as Harry gives him a final smile and walks away.

“Freak,” He whispers half heartedly, biting down a smile of his own.

-

“So, I definitely didn’t think I would find you here again today,” Louis turns around, looking up to find Curly – _no,_ Harry standing behind him with a smile on his face and a camera on his hand, “I hope I didn’t scare you off or anything.”

He hadn’t gone to the beach in a couple of days, hoping to avoid any kind of interaction like the one he had had with Harry that day. Even though it hadn’t been all that unpleasant, Louis wasn’t so sure of how to act with people who weren’t charging him for his food anymore. One thing is talking to them through the phone where they can’t watch his face and his reactions and see how blatantly tired he looks. The other is talking to them face to face and allowing them to know he’s so obviously lying whenever he tells them doing fine and getting better. Avoiding social interactions all in all seems like a better idea ninety percent of the time.

Upon hearing no answer from Louis, Harry starts scratching his head, “Erm, do you want me to leave?” Louis doesn’t, not really, “because I only came here to take some pictures and I saw you sitting here all by yourself and I thought I would come to-

“Just sit down,” he cuts him off, looking back to the beach, “it’s a public place, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” that’s probably not the answer Harry was looking for but he sits next to Louis anyway, not close enough to touch but to turn impossible for Louis to ignore his presence.

He can feel Harry staring at the side of his head and he feels his cheeks burning. It’s beyond him asking Harry to stop, though. The boy is harmless; he’s probably either suffering from a mild crush on Louis or thinking of ways to thank him for the picture. There’s nothing else Harry could get from him, even if Louis was ever willing to allow him to ask.

Minutes passed without a word from any of them and Louis grows restless. He starts tapping his fingers against his thigh to the rhythm of a song he doesn’t recognise at first. Tries closing his eyes for a while, but he opens them soon enough when he hears the sound of the shutter going off.

When he takes a glance at Harry, the boy is taking pictures of the water, not paying Louis any mind. That certainly annoys Louis a lot more than it actually should, so he cleans his throat, waiting for Harry to put the camera down and look at him.

“You told me you’re studying photography,” Harry nods, holding the camera back on eyesight.

“Yes, at the Art Institute,” the shutter goes off twice as he speaks and he puts it down to check the pictures, “I’m going to start my last year. These pictures are for my final project.”

Louis pushes his glasses up his nose bridge. He remembers being in uni, remembers being so excited about everything. From the classes to the parties, everything was just so fascinating back then. He remembers him, Liam and Zayn, all of them in different majors but doing everything together nonetheless. Liam had always been the responsible one, stopping Louis and Zayn from being too reckless at the parties – he failed miserably, if the amount of times Louis almost blew Zayn in public was anything to go by. They used to share a dorm – actually, Zayn and Liam shared a dorm but Louis slept there every night, no one was going to pretend the room wasn’t as his as it was Zayn’s and Liam’s.

Moving in with Zayn had been in his plans and they did just that the day they graduated. Zayn got his dream job as an English teacher and Louis started working as a Drama teacher in a different school. The three of them would get together every night, tough – Liam bringing with him whoever he was dating at the time – and both couples would have a nice time before Zayn and Louis kicked the other two out and sneaked into the bedroom.

It was different every night, but Zayn knew his body like no one else and he was good at it. His movements slow and accurate or rough and messy, it didn’t matter, Louis always felt like he belonged with Zayn, even nearing the end when his movements started being more calculate and less passionate. When sex stopped being about the two of them and Zayn would distract Louis for long enough as if not to show him how things weren’t working for him anymore. They wouldn’t cuddle anymore. A kiss would be pressed against Louis’ forehead before Zayn rolled to his side and left a space between the two of them.

 _A phase_ , that’s what Louis defined inside his head. _He’s probably tired._  

“So Louis,” Harry’s looking expectantly at him now, camera resting on his lap, “what do you do? Are you still in uni or?”

Louis shakes his head, staring down at his hands, “Graduated a couple of years ago. I’m a Drama teacher.”

He expects Harry to scoff but the boy is still smiling when he takes a brief look at him and, shit, he has _dimples._ Louis pushes down the urge of poking them with his fingers.

“That’s different,” Harry says, bumping his shoulder against Louis’, “you like teaching them?”

Louis nods, only now noticing all the points where the two of them are pressing against each other, “Most people think it’s a bitch because teenagers can certainly be really difficult when they want to, but I like it,” he looks up at Harry then, his lips curling up in a smile, “I teach kids from fifteen to seventeen and, surprisingly, they cooperate a lot more than some adults I know.”

Harry’s still staring at him, and Louis shifts, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. The other boy notices it, starts ruffling his hair like he had done when their first met. There’s a family sitting down near them. Actually, the parents are sitting down, talking about whatever, while the two little girls are running from the waves that crash down on the sand.

The younger boy asks him something that Louis doesn’t catch, “Come again?”

“I asked you if you’re from here,” The smallest of the girls lets out a squeak when she’s not quick enough to escape from the water.

“I was born in Philly but I’ve been living here since I was two, so I think you can say that,” his parents moved to California when his father got a job offer. He doesn’t remember much from Philadelphia, especially because his mother is keen on never going back there, “what about you?”

“Born and raised here, yeah,” he nods, “I want to go to other places, you know? Not only because of the pictures I will be able to take but also because I’ve always dreamed about it. Visiting different countries, different cultures.”

“Why don’t you do just that?” Louis asks, nudging Harry with his knee.

“Money, mostly,” Harry smile falters, but it’s still there, even when he frowns, “I can’t ask for more money from my mother. Whatever I do I will have to do by myself.”

Louis understands that, he really does. In the years between his father leaving and his mother meeting Dan, he’d had to give up on a bunch of things he had wanted to have but couldn’t because his mother had four other kids to take care of. He would help with things at home, wouldn’t ask for the new stuff his friends at school had. Firstly because he didn’t want them, secondly because he knew how to define priorities in his life and food had always been a number one priority.

Whatever Harry’s about to add is cut off by the arrival of the oldest of the two girls who taps Harry on the shoulder. He turns around, his smile growing even bigger.

“Yes, young lady?” Louis’ staring intently, not wanting to miss a single second of the interaction.

“Why is your hair so curly?” Harry laughs, wide and beautiful, throwing his head back, exposing his neck for anyone to see.

“I don’t know, miss. Why is your hair so straight?” the little girl pulls at one of the strands of her hair.

“I wanted my hair to be as curly as yours, it would be a lot prettier,” she pouts and Harry shakes his head.

“No, no, don’t say that,” he grabs her hands, pulling her to stand in front of the two boys, “look at my friend here, his name is Louis, he has straight hair and it’s one of the prettiest hairs I’ve ever seen.”

The girl switches her attention from Harry to Louis and he tries his best to hide the blush on his cheeks.

“Your hair is really pretty,” she says to him and Louis smiles.

“Do you want to touch it?” the girl nods, reaching to run her chubby fingers through the strands of his hair.

“It feels nice,” by the corner of his eye, Louis sees Harry smile.

“Cecilia!” a woman shouts, and the little girl takes a step back, “Cecilia, what are you doing?”

It’s Cecilia’s mum, who comes to both of them with her younger daughter on her arms. Cecilia runs to her mother, hiding behind the woman’s legs.

“I’m so sorry for that, she doesn’t have a single notion of privacy,” she apologises to the two of them and Harry shakes his head, his smile blinding.

“It’s okay ma’am, she wasn’t bothering us or anything,” he says, taking the cover out of his camera’s lens, “actually, would you mind if I took a picture of her?”

She’s hesitant at first but after Harry explains to her that it’s for a project, Louis confirming everything, she allows him to put Cecilia in the place he wants her to be and take her picture.

“Thank you so much,” he tells her afterwards, waving to Cecilia as the three of them walk away and back to where they were sitting.

Harry turns to look at Louis then and the older boy is mesmerized, he truly is.

-

They fall into a sort of routine.

Louis no longer stays stuck inside of his house. He no longer dreads waking up every day because now he knows that if he gets out of bed and goes down to the beach, the chances of him meeting up with Harry are big. Sometimes he’s not there when Louis arrives, the days he ends up sleeping in or he has to help his mother with something. But eventually he gets there and they spend the rest of the afternoon together.

Harry’s funny and quick witted. He talks slow and Louis often finds himself wanting to give up on paying attention because he takes too long to get to the point. When he does though, he manages to make Louis get interested because the subjects he chooses are often smart. Harry is smart and a good company. The best part of him, though, is that he has absolutely no connection to the other side of Louis’ life.

“Ok, let’s play 20 questions,” Harry suggests, lying down on the sand.

“Why?” Louis’ sitting next to him, his knee overlapping Harry’s thigh, head bend back, bathing on the sun’s warmth. 

“Is that your first question?” Harry asks, and Louis snorts, hitting Harry’s knee. The boy laughs, stops Louis from slapping him again and slowly intertwines their fingers, waiting for Louis to let go of his hand. He doesn’t and Harry smiles, content, “just kidding. I don’t know, I want to get to know you better. I reckon knowing your favourite colour, favourite food and favourite school subjects is too trivial and not at all exciting.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis brings their tangled hands to his lap, playing with Harry’s fingers.

“You can start,” he says, brushing his fingertips against Harry’s knuckles.

“Okay then,” Harry clears his throat, “what has been your worst haircut?”

Louis snorts, definitely not expecting that.

“Way to be random, Curly,” he mutters, “I had a Justin Bieber phase, though. That was tragic.”

“Wish I had seen that,” Harry says, bringing his free hand to his face and adjusting his sunglasses, “it was probably hilarious.”

“Excuse me,” Louis says in mock offence, “I will have you know that it was a cool haircut back then and I looked really good with it.”

“Never said you didn’t,” Harry whispers and Louis blushes.

“Have you quite finished?” he asks before Harry can say anything else and give Louis a heart attack, “I haven’t even asked my first question.”

Harry mimics zipping his mouth and locking it with a padlock.

“Good,” Louis says, pinching the back of Harry’s hand in retaliation, “have you ever played golf?”

“Boring question,” Harry answers and Louis scoffs.

“Sorry we can’t all be profound hipsters like you,” he’s a hundred percent sure Harry rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses at that.

“Answer is yes though,” he continues, scratching the exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up, “I’m very fond of golf, actually.”

“Golf?” Louis snorts, “of all the sports in the world you had to be a fun of golf, obviously.”

Harry’s gaping at him when Louis looks down and he reminds him a lot of a puppy.

“Don’t go hating on my golf, Tomlinson, or you will suffer the consequences,” considering Harry is as terrifying as a baby penguin, Louis is not impressed.

“Please, my sister scares me a lot more than you do,” Louis points out, raising one eyebrow.

They both fall silent then and Harry’s pouting, visibly offended by Louis lack of confidence on his manliness. Louis was mostly kidding; he knows Harry is big, bigger than him, and he has huge biceps, but he doubts Harry would be able to do any real harm to anyone, intentionally or not. So.

“Won’t you ask me your second question, Curly?” he asks, poking Harry’s cheek.

“Fine, if you insist,” Louis rolls his eyes, “washing dishes or doing laundry?”

“Washing dishes, hands down,” he answers and then, “would you rather have free Starbucks for a year or free iTunes music?”

Harry scoffs, “Free music, obviously, what would I do with free coffee the entire year?” and then, “would you rather wake up naked next to Burger King telling you “you had it your way” or next to Ronald McDonald telling you that “you were loving it”?”

Louis laughs, letting go of Harry’s hand to clutch at his stomach, falling on his side. From everything he expected Harry to ask, that definitely wasn’t on the list. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, so open and obvious, without the memory of Zayn going away pulling him down and back to reality.

“What the actual fuck?” he asks when he’s coherent enough, wiping away the tears running down his face, “seriously, where the fuck did that come from?”

“It’s an honest question, really,” Harry says, but he’s laughing as well and Louis notices how beautiful he looks when he’s that happy.

“Well, I’d rather be Burger Queen than a clown, so I would go with the first one,” Louis finds himself replying before he can help it.

“Great answer,” the other boy says, reaching for Louis’ hand and threading their fingers again, “your turn.”

-

It’s a Friday and he’s in a Harry haze after spending most of the day with the boy, having reached question twelve on their question game. Harry had asked him whether he would prefer being a ninja or a samurai to which Louis had replied by standing up and mimicking a samurai pose. They ended up on the ground having a tickle fight until Harry’s phone had gone off.

“Sorry, I have to go,” he said, lips curling down on a frown, “my best friend needs me to help him with painting his apartment. I forgot I had promised him I would help him.”

“It’s okay,” Louis said, sitting down and watching as Harry stood up and started cleaning the back of his jeans, “will you be here tomorrow?”

“Of course, Lou,” Harry smiles, leaning down to kiss Louis’ cheek. “See ya.”

Louis’ staring at the beach when his phone starts ringing. Too distracted, he doesn’t bother looking to see who’s calling before answering the call.

“Louis?” and shit, it’s Liam. “Louis? Are you there? Please don’t turn off, I’m trying to talk to your for weeks, man.”

He sits up straight, running a hand through his hair. He considers turning off and ignoring Liam for a little longer, although it’s obvious that they’ve had too much of that. He misses his best friend, he truly does, but it’s hard when he’s a constant reminder of Louis’ other best friend.

“Hey Liam,” he says instead, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing, “how are you?”

“Worried,” Liam replies, clearly relieved, “I’m worried, that’s how I am. Where the fuck have you been, Lou?”

“Nowhere,” Louis says, “the beach, actually. I’m coming down to the beach quite often lately, but that’s that.”

“So you’re not stuck at home anymore?” Liam asks, no hint of malice on his tone.

Louis replies with a whispered no and hears Liam sighing.

“Good,” he says and he sounds happier, or at least calmer, “go out with me tonight, let’s go to a bar or something, we can talk over a couple of beers.”

“Liam, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Louis says, knowing there’s no way of talking Liam out of this, not now that he knows Louis is not stuck inside his apartment anymore.

“Of course it is, come on,” Liam is almost pleading, begging for Louis to give him a little something, “I’m your best friend too, you know? That’s not fair with me.”

Louis sighs, pulling his sunglasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fine,” Louis relents, “but you’re paying.”

Liam chuckles, “Meet me at eight, yeah? Same place.”

“Sure, see you,” and Liam ends the call, leaving Louis to accept that things couldn’t remain easy for much longer.

-

Louis arrives at the bar at five past eight and Liam is already there waiting for him, nursing his first beer. He waves at Louis and he walks towards his friends, sitting down in front of him on the booth. Liam doesn’t look much difference from the last time that the two of them met, even if that had happened almost two months before. He knows he’s different though, skinnier and paler, in spite of the amount of sun he’s been getting with Harry on the beach. The paleness is because of how tired he still feels, considering he hasn’t had a decent night of sleep in ages.

Liam smiles at him though, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey Lou,” he says, and Louis can’t help but smile a bit. It is his best friend after all and it’s not his fault Zayn fucked up everything, “do you want a beer?”

“No, I’m good,” he says, fiddling with the sleeves of his oversized jumper. It once belonged to the same boy sitting in front of him and Louis knows that Liam knows that, but none of them mentions it.

“Okay, then,” Liam replies, taking a sip of his beer, “how are you? Honestly, though.”

Louis sighs, looking down at his hands.

“Honestly?” he asks and Liam nods, “I feel like shit sometimes, like no matter how hard I try, I will never get the fucking over it. But I’m better. A lot better than I was a couple of weeks ago, at least.”

Liam nods, reaching across the table to hold Louis’ hands and that reminds him a lot of how he and Harry had started to hold hands all the time now, be that by tangling their fingers together or just their pinkies, they were constantly linked.

“Has something happened for you to feel better or?” Liam asks, and although the curiosity is genuine, Louis knows he suspects of something.

“Well,” Louis starts, thinks about lying but doesn’t see a point in it, “I’ve kind of met someone? But that’s not all. Maybe I’m just tired of moping.”

His friend just smiles.

“I’m happy for you, Louis, I really am,” he says, squeezing Louis’ hands before letting go of them, “who’s he then?”

Louis ends up telling Liam everything about Harry and his cameras and his silly questions game and how he makes Louis feel all warm inside in a way he hasn’t felt ever since before Zayn and him started fighting more than talking. Liam is great about it, always making the right questions and showing how truly happy he is that Louis is finding his way back in life.

 “Please, don’t disappear again,” Liam says after he pays the bill and they are standing outside the bar, “I really missed my best friend.”

Louis nods, stepping forward and pulling Liam into a hug.

He goes home feeling lighter that night. He’s unlocking his front door when he phone buzzes on his back pocket.

It’s a text from Harry.

_question thirteen; go on a date with me?_

Louis smiles and bites down on his lip.

_when??_

The answer comes ten minutes later when Louis is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He doesn’t check it at first, he’s not willing to admit to himself how eager he actually is.

_tomorrow night? i will wine and dine you_

Louis’ heart doesn’t skip a beat at that, not really.

_does this mean we can’t see each other tomorrow morning?_

He already knows Harry’s answer before it arrives.

_ofc, i have to do it properly tomlinson_

_which means you will have to give me your address so i can pick you up and everything._

Louis’ so fucking gone.

-

Louis raises his eyebrows when Harry tells him to cover his eyes.

“Seriously, Lou,” he says, passing him the piece of fabric which happens to be one of many Harry’s bandanas, “I want it to be a proper surprise.”

He rolls his eyes but allows Harry to put the bandana on him, tying it on the back of his head. Harry takes his hand, guiding him to the car and opening the passenger door to him.

“If you kidnap me, Styles, I will have you know that you’re not making any fortune with the rescue,” Louis says and Harry laughs, helping Louis to sit down, “I’m not lying, you’re not going to make any money if you plan on asking it from my parents.”

Harry closes the door and Louis is left in the silence until Harry’s opening the driver’s door and entering the car.

“You’re such a drama queen, Lou,” Harry says, starting the car and slowly driving away from Louis’ building, “you’re probably a great actor.”

Louis chuckles, “if I was a great actor I wouldn’t be a Drama teacher.”

“That’s so not true,” Harry says, “you have to be the best at it in order to teach other people how to do it.”

They talk a bit more about Louis’ job and Louis’ expectations, until he realises he hasn’t asked his thirteenth question yet.

“So, Harry,” Louis starts, “question; what would you do if you wasn’t trying for photography?”

He’s silent for a moment, probably thinking about the best way to voice his thoughts, before he answers.

“I know it has absolutely nothing to do with photography,” Harry says with a hint of humour, “but I would probably go for Law.”

Louis whistles.

“I definitely didn’t see that coming,” he says, slightly impressed, “but why?”

“I like it,” Harry answers and his tone shifts to something more serious, “I would work for actual causes, you know? Like gay rights and against rape. Things that actually matter. Not just for the money. I wouldn’t let go of my principles because of it.”

And the thing about Harry is that he’s just so genuinely good that Louis is certain that he’s being a hundred percent honest. Harry’s the type of person who goes out of his way to help blind people cross the street or the type of person who offers to carry old ladies groceries to their house and doesn’t expect anything in return. Louis knows that the first thing he will do upon meeting Harry’s mum is greeting her for raising a child so well.

Fuck, why is he even thinking about meeting Harry’s mother?

“We’re here,” Harry says, parking the car and turning it off, “don’t take the bandana off though.”

Louis holds Harry’s hand when offered, walking on unsteady legs without his vision to support him. He trusts Harry though, allows him to guide him until he comes to a stop. The bandana is taken away from his face and Louis finds out why Harry told him to dress comfortably.

“You brought me to the beach,” Louis says, looking at Harry incredulously, “are you trying to be a sap or something?”

Harry laughs, pulling Louis in the direction of a picnic towel spread on the sand and it’s when Louis notices the picnic basket on top of it, together with a couple of candles.

“I’m trying to be romantic, Lou,” Harry says, sitting down on the towel, “have you ever tried?”

Louis sticks out his tongue as Harry lights the candles with a lighter he picked from his pocket. Louis sits down as Harry takes a bottle of wine out of the basket together with two sandwiches wrapped in foil paper.

“I know it’s not much,” he says, passing one of the sandwiches to Louis, “but it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring anything more than sandwiches here.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head, putting the sandwich down for a moment and grabbing Harry’s hand, “it’s perfect, really.”

Harry’s smile is completely blinding and there are the dimples Louis finds extremely adorable. He has to unwrap the sandwich and take a bite not to let his fondness too obvious.

“Shit, this is delicious,” he says after swallowing, “I bet you’re a great cook.”

“I am, actually,” Harry replies, putting his sandwich aside to uncork the bottle of wine, “I took cooking as a hobby when I realised photography was a lot more than just that.”

Louis nods, taking another bite from his sandwich and watching as Harry succeeds on opening the bottle and takes a big gulp, throwing his head back and giving Louis a perfect view of his unmarred neck. It makes him want to go there and suck a purple mark right below his Adam’s apple.

“Do you want some?” Harry offers Louis the bottle which he gratefully takes, taking a large sip himself.

“So, question,” Harry says once Louis is done with his sandwich.

“It’s nineteen, right?” and Harry nods, “ok, shoot.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks without hesitation and Louis’ heart falters.

Louis nods, though, and Harry’s only mildly surprised.

“Oh, okay.”

And Louis is crawling towards Harry before he thinks twice and admits to himself that this is a terrible idea. Because it isn’t, it really isn’t. He’s not compromised to anyone, he’s not being held back by his memories anymore and it’s Harry. Shit, if there’s anyone in the world he wouldn’t mind kissing every single minute for the rest of his life that person is Harry.

And although Harry was the one to ask, Louis is the one to lean forward. He kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth first and then the other. He’s just testing waters at first, to see if Harry feels just as soft as he looks. Louis moves up then to kiss at Harry’s cheekbones – left and then right – trailing kisses down his cheek until he reaches the point where he knows Harry’s dimple is, coaxing it into appearing.

“Lou,” Harry whispers and his breath is warm against his own cheek, “Louis, kiss me.”

Louis does then, pressing his lips against both of Harry’s with a sigh. Big hands go to cradle his face and his own are resting on Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s tongue pushes in and Louis opens his mouth releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He traces his own tongue over Harry’s teeth, the roof of Harry’s mouth, and shivers as he feels more than listens when Harry moans.

He stops, pressing his lips against Harry’s briefly before putting some space between them.

“I don’t put out on the first date, Curly,” he whispers, and Harry laughs.

“And here I thought you were easy,” Harry says, kissing Louis again before he can say anything else.

Louis goes willingly, allowing Harry to pull him into his lap. It’s messy, Louis licking into Harry’s mouth, the younger boy arms going around Louis’ waist and pulling him even closer. Louis’ hands are in Harry’s hair, tugging at the curls when Harry bites down on his lip.

“Fuck,” Louis whispers, circling his hips down and moaning louder than he expected when Harry ruts up.

“If we continue like this,” Harry says, breathless as Louis continues to roll his hips, “I’m going to come.”

Louis chuckles, pulling Harry back into the kiss without stopping his hips. It’s riling up both of them, if Harry’s erection pressing against his bum is anything to go by.

“Do you want me to stop?” Louis asks, panting against Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s answer is to roll them so Louis is pressed against the ground with Harry’s body on top of his. He wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, his hands pulling Harry down for a kiss. Harry’s rutting down on him and even the press of his clothed crotch against Louis’ is enough to bring him to the edge.

It’s only when Harry sneaks a hand between their bodies and palms Louis’ crotch that he feels his orgasm building up. He comes when Harry moves his mouth to Louis’ neck and starts sucking a mark on the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Harry’s name is stuck inside his throat and Louis has to pull him into a kiss after he comes down from his high, unable to stare at Harry’s green eyes for now. The younger boy is still rutting up against Louis’ thighs but he ignores that in favour to work his tongue inside Harry’s mouth. He gets a real reaction when he tugs harshly on his curls and Harry is coming, his mouth agape and his hips faltering.

“Jesus,” Harry whispers, burying his face on Louis’ neck.

Louis keeps threading his fingers through Harry’s hair, kissing the side of his face, until the younger boy finally decides to sit up. His cheeks are still red and his hair is a mess, but the languid smile and the stain on his jeans give away what he had been up to only minutes before. Louis decides that wrecked is a good look on Harry.

“I thought you said you didn’t put out on the first date,” Harry says cheekily and Louis laughs.

“It’s not out though,” he says, sitting up, “and that’s why you should take me home. I will even let you come up and everything.”

“Wait, Lou, I have to tell you something,” Harry stands up, offering Louis his hand.

“Can’t you tell me later?” Louis asks, cleaning the sand from his jeans, “I really need a shower and clean pants.”

“I’m leaving,” Harry says and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Ok, Curly, you don’t have to stay the night,” he turns around, blowing out the candles and gathering the stuff they used.

Harry stops him though, grabbing his arm before he can pick up the basket.

“No, Lou, I’m leaving,” he says again, and Louis notices how serious his eyes are, “as in, I’m going to Paris on Monday and I’m not coming back until next year, probably.”

Louis freezes.

“I got the acceptance letter yesterday,” Harry continues and Louis feels the blood drain from his face, “it’s an exchange and I knew I couldn’t afford it, but they offered me a scholarship and I can’t not go, Lou.”

“Why did you do this, then?” Louis asks, disentangling from Harry’s grip. “Why did you call me out on a date if you knew you were leaving?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, staring at his feet.

“Take me home, Harry,” Louis demands, glad that Harry is just as unwilling to stare at his eyes as Louis is unwilling to stare at his face, “just take me home.”

“Okay.”

-

Against Louis’ best judgement, he doesn’t storm out of his room the minute Harry parks in front of his building.

“Do you hate me?” Harry asks, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of them ever since they left the beach.

Louis turns on his seat so he’s facing Harry. Does he hate him? No, he doesn’t. How could he ever hate Harry, really? Harry has good reasons to leave and it’s not like they have anything. Harry’s not betraying his trust; he’s just doing what he’s always wanted to do. He’s young, Louis knows that it’s the best time for him to take some wild decisions, while there’s nothing holding him back.

He sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“No, Harry, of course not,” Louis says, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.

“Will you answer my emails?” he asks, fiddling with the seat belt.

“If you want me to,” Louis replies, opening the door.

Harry calls for him before he can go out, though.

“I’m going to miss you,” he whispers, soft and young, and Louis fights against the urge of climbing on top of him and kissing the sadness away.

“Me too, Curly,” Louis says, “can I ask you something? My question nineteen?”

Harry nods.

“Will you still want me when you come back?” it’s a silly question but Louis needs to know, so he can calm his heart and not allow it to break again.

“As long as you still want me, Lou, I will, yes,” Harry answers and that’s enough.

-

Louis decides against moping. He did enough of that with Zayn and Harry’s situation is far from being similar. He doesn’t love Harry like he loved Zayn and Harry didn’t finish a relationship that they had been nourishing for years. Besides, Harry promised to come back and to give them a shot, so there was that as well.

So Louis actually does things instead of sitting around all day and feeling sorry for himself. He goes back to calling his mother everyday as well as Liam. He starts planning his classes one week before he’s supposed to and he exchanges emails with Harry every couple of days. Classes start and the frequency the two of them talk is smaller but there’s always an email waiting for Louis when he gets home on Fridays.

He’s reading one of those emails one night when the bell rings.

Standing there on the other side of the door is Zayn and while a half an year ago Louis’ first reaction would be to shut the door on his face, now he just stands there, waiting for Zayn to say something.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck.

Louis nods, opening the door so Zayn can walk into the apartment.

It feels weird having him here after all this time. He knows Zayn used to live here once but it suddenly feels like he doesn’t belong anymore, like the tiny apartment has grown even smaller to the point where the two of them don’t fit here as well as they used to.

“Do you want something to drink?” Louis asks, walking towards the kitchen.

“No, thank you”, Zayn replies, sitting down on the sofa.

Louis nods, fetching himself a can of coke before he walks to sit next to Zayn.

“As I was saying, I owe you an apology,” Zayn starts, “I definitely wasn’t fair to you, considering everything we’ve been through together, and I know you deserved better than the way I simply walked out of your life.”

Taking a sip of his coke, Louis doesn’t bother saying anything. Whatever Zayn has to say doesn’t really matter anymore. If anything, he only wants his best friend back.

“Shit, Louis, I know I should have been more considerate of your feelings,” he says, and Louis avoids nodding, “I was just scared, you know? We had fallen into some sort of routine and we were truly settling down and I don’t think I was ready for it. It was shitty from my part because you’re my best friend, and I should’ve known from the start that mixing that with romantic feelings wouldn’t do as well as we hoped it would.”

Louis raises his eyebrows.

“Not that I wasn’t in love with you,” Zayn explains, “I was, I really loved you, Lou, and I still do, but I think it’s not that type of love. Can you say something?”

Louis scoffs, putting the coke down and smile, “I forgave you a long time ago, Zayn,” the moment he met Harry, actually, “I’m still hurt about it because our relationship meant a lot to me, but I don’t want to dwell on it anymore. It’s exhausting feeling like shit all the fucking time and I don’t want it anymore. So I accept your apologies, but seriously, you don’t have to apologise.”

Zayn smiles a little bit, offering his hand for Louis to shake.

“Friends?” he asks, shyly.

“C’me here, Malik,” Louis pulls him into a hug instead, burying his face into the crook of Zayn’s neck and inhaling, comforting himself on Zayn’s familiar smell.

“Liam told me you met someone,” Zayn whispers against Louis’ forehead.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Louis groans, pulling back from the hug but resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder, Zayn wrapping his arm around Louis shoulders, “I missed you a lot, Z.”

“I know, Lou,” Zayn says, pressing a kiss against the side of Louis’ head, “I missed you too.”

-

There’s an envelope in the mail that is definitely not a bill and has stamps from Paris, which causes Louis to open before he’s even made it to the front door. Inside there’s a ticket to a gallery and a post-it attached to it.

_I miss you xx_

There’s also an email from Harry sitting on his inbox when he opens his laptop. He reads it immediately because it’s a Wednesday and Harry’s emails never come on Wednesdays.

_Hey Lou,_

_I hope you received the ticket otherwise this email is completely useless._

_Anyways, there’s this exposition on Friday that I really, really, really wanted to go but I won’t make it because I’m not going home for at least another couple of months and I was wondering if you could do me the favour of going and telling me everything about it? I will be forever thankful if you do._

_Paris is still just as beautiful as it’s always been,_

_Love,_

_Harry._

-

Needless to say, Louis goes to the exposition Harry sent him the ticket to. It’s at a gallery he’s never been to which happens to be across the city. Without a car, he had no other option but to ask Zayn for a ride.

“You have money for the cab?” Zayn asks as Louis walks out of the car, “you know I would come to pick you up, but I promised Liam I would let him burrow the car to take what’s-her-name out.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Louis replies, closing the door, “thanks for the ride, Z.”

“No problem,” Zayn smiles, “have fun.”

Louis flips him off before turning around and walking into the gallery. It’s not too crowded but there are enough people for him to have trouble looking at the pictures hanging on the walls. It’s only when he finds an empty spot that he recognises the pictures, and that’s because he remembers every single one of them. They are all Harry’s pictures.

There’s the picture Harry took of the couple walking near the water on the same day the two of them started their twenty questions game. There’s the picture with the Golden Gate on the back on the day Harry found out about Louis’ favourite colour. There’s also the picture Harry took of the little girl, Cecilia, and her blonde straight hair looks even lighter with the water on the background and sun shining down on her.

Louis turns around and there’s the picture everyone’s walking to and he knows which picture it is, even though Harry never let him see it. It’s the one Harry took the day they first met, the one of Louis’ profile, the sun making his hair look even lighter, his cheekbones even more prominent, his eyelashes even longer. He looks beautiful, and now he understands what Harry meant back then.

He sits down on the bench facing the picture and doesn’t bother looking to the side when he feels someone sitting next to him.

“Every single one of these pictures were taken on the days you were with me,” Louis recognises that voice but he chooses not to look yet, too afraid that it might be just a dream, “I had gone to the beach a million times before, but those are exclusively from days you were with me and you wanna know why?”

Louis nods, how could he not?

“Because everything looked more beautiful with you there,” he shifts around then, and it’s really Harry, he’s there and he looks just as beautiful as he looked that night on the beach.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks, low enough so Harry has to move closer to hear, “I thought you were only coming back next year.”

Harry smiles, and shit, he’s stunning, “I asked to come back.”

“Why?” he asks again, his lips curling up in a small smile.

“Because of you,” Harry says, leaning in and pressing his lips against Louis’ quickly.

“Haz,” Louis bites on his lower lip, inclining his head to the side a bit, “question number twenty; do you love me?”

Harry’s answer is to kiss him.


End file.
